Tag Archives: kroq

Waiting for the End

KROQ-FM

Image via Wikipedia

So… I like this song.

…I do this alot.

What is this?

Oh, yeah, you, the proverbial audience of one or two or most likely, zero, exist outside of my own thought process. I am so self-absorbed that I frequently ‘forget’ the wall between kiko-thought/conveyance of aforementioned thought (via speech, action or through any other physical manifestation) otherwise known as ‘communication’/reception of thought by 3rd party A (again the proverbial “you”) through 3rd party A’s particular schema of the moment.

words words words.

I believe this is what some people refer to as a stall. eh.

I like this song. I sit on a bucket seat in transit (forward-facing and fancy-free) and randomly hear this song. I’ve never heard this song before. I am on that other coast on an early-ish train to a Wall Street address (where the production company has set up shop) and continue my employment as a denizen of the world… albeit, artistically so.

My contacts stick to my eyes as per the ‘yuse’. I nod and and wake… again, as per the ‘yuse’. Production is killer, man. If I ever needed to remain awake for days at a time… this would be it. And, of course, no needles, no Frank meth… but that is another story.

So… KROQ FM. That west coast place… car culture‘s mecca. I miss it…. the station. I used radio as my version of time. And, at that point, I needed some version of time. Numbers and clocks freaked me out too much. Representations of numbers and clocks via radio-things… it could all work out…

flashforward… I am no longer in the west coast place. I miss the mask of time that I so lackadaisically though stringently relied on. But I can deal with time now… to a degree… I just miss the ‘mask’. I download this spotty shoddy radio “companion”… nobex… or something? and so, in blips that stop then start then flow…

I hear… CLICK>> waiting for the end <<CLICK.

I slowly dig.

really dig. bopping my head….

Then, I realize that it maybe… yes…

is it? can it be…

it totally is… linkin park.

Fuck it, I don’t care.

For all of their avril lavigne candy-chord-rape ‘o da masses, their mundane watery techno-esque-alterna-rock-ish fusion, that stupid little shit chester or whatever his name is… I like the song.

I like it.

Somehow, I’m obsessively listening to it.

…and it may be exactly because of this aforementioned “candy-chord-rape ‘o da masses/mundane crack-whore appeal to the most primal of feel-gooooood head bop shit” that I am.

But fuck it.

And so, the this that I do alot is become pre-obsessed with a song, film, etc. before I actually know what it is.

But now I think it’s a good thing.

I don’t fuckin’ care…

right now… before it becomes anything… before others can put some sort of cultural stamp on it, I’m saying that I like it.

the end.

its the risk that i take… biatch.

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lies, lies, lies

…based in truth.

thank you, drive thru. nothing to see here.

*FLASH* …that thing from Men in Black.

 

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